


Minute

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Reform Vulcan, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The morning after an alien fling, Jim has to go.





	Minute

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So this is set sort of in a Pre-Reform Vulcan, except Surak’s teachings are just now coming about.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He can feel a buzzing presence in his mind, buried deep but fighting to recede, and Jim reaches out to pull it back into him. It comes with an inherent warmth, a comfort, and the pleasant reminder of last night—he can still feel some of the bruises. He smiles in his dying sleep, shifting his thighs, and hisses at the burn in his ass. It was well worth the aftermath—the finger-shaped grooves and the teeth marks. The memories are too. He wonders idly how many planets he’ll have to visit before he finds someone else who can fuck him that hard.

He lets his eyes flutter open, peering through the dim morning light, and the sight of Spock’s handsome face makes him wonder if he really wants anyone else at all.

James Kirk doesn’t have that luxury. He reminds himself stiffly that he’s no civilian. The admiral wouldn’t let him waste his career piddling about on just one planet, and he wouldn’t want to. It’s just that Spock’s eyes, dark and intense, are hard to get away from. Jim whispers, as much in his mind as his throat, “Good morning.”

Spock frowns. It looks too right on his chiseled features, like he isn’t used to _smiling_ , even though Jim vividly recalls one or two of them after the banquet last night. He remembers pulling Spock behind a pillar, Spock strangely stiff for a feral Vulcan, but eventually getting Spock’s bow lips against his own. He fishes one hand out from under the blankets to lift to Spock’s face, and he cups Spock’s cheek, caressing one pointed ear. Spock’s expression melts for half a second before he schools himself back into place. He’s better at it than most of the Vulcan’s Jim’s met. 

But he’s an anomaly amongst them—born of both the old families and the new Surak line, and both the wild flame and strict logic live within him. He reaches up to hold Jim’s hand against himself, and his palm seems to send lightning down through Jim’s knuckles, making him shiver right to his core. 

Spock pulls him away and mutters, “You should go now.”

It’s Jim’s turn to frown. This is a familiar routine. He often stays the night, unlike some of the other interns he knows—he likes the feel of alien sheets, the strange pillow talk afterwards, and the experience of just enjoying someone’s company. But this time always comes.

He begrudgingly nods and rolls over, slipping out of the bed. In just his boxers, he doesn’t feel any chill—Vulcan’s uncannily hot, though Spock’s bedroom is better than most. Jim spots his black trousers halfway across the room and rubs the sleep out of his eyes before wandering over to fetch them.

Spock watches in silence as Jim collects his undershirt next, stretching it down over his head and smoothing out the stomach. When Jim catches him looking, Spock politely averts his eyes. It’s hard to see lust in them, but Jim can still feel the ripple of that inside his head. Spock’s very _being_ feels like it’s still tied to him, thinly and tenuously. It makes him wonder if they could solidify that more, if he stayed. No one he’s ever been with has felt like that. 

As he plucks his gold tunic off the back of Spock’s desk chair, Spock drawls, “I would be obliged if you told no one of this.”

Jim’s head swivels around. He’s not the type to brag about his conquests anyway. But the way Spock says it, in that deep, lilting voice just a _tad_ too stern, gives him pause. 

Jim volleys carefully, “There’s no shame in it. It’s not like you’d get in trouble...”

“Before the Reform, I would not have, no. But Surak’s teachings dictate a more... subtle... approach. A ‘one night stand’ would not be well received from an ambassador’s son.” He still looks away as he says it, grating out the three-word phrase bitterly, but he doesn’t have to elaborate any further—Jim already understands.

He saw the struggle in Spock’s mind last night, when Spock’s lithe fingers splayed across his face and they melded, got to know one another, truly became _one_ for that fleeting, glorious moment. He saw how hard Spock fights to be _logical_. But he has as much old blood as new, and Jim, perhaps, was a moment of weakness.

Jim leaves it. When he’s finished dressing, right down to his boots, he doesn’t head right for the door. Spock’s still in bed, maybe hiding his naked body from Jim’s hungry eyes now that they’re _finished_. He must feel, like Jim can, how badly Jim wishes he could stay.

Lingering in the space beside Spock’s grand bed, Jim asks levelly, “Do you regret it?”

Spock hesitates. Then he quietly admits, “No.”

Jim can’t help a little smile. He strolls around the sprawling mattress, over to Spock’s side, and he leans down to brush his lips across Spock’s mouth, pleased and unsurprised when Spock turns to him to aid it. The kiss is chaste and over too soon, like their meeting.

But as Jim straightens, he says, “Good. Because I’d like to think this won’t turn out to be a one night stand after all.”

There’s a glint in Spock’s eye as Jim leaves. Their bond is pulled taut the further Jim goes, and he knows it will snap soon, if it doesn’t fade away first. In the doorway, he adds, “See you at the embassy.”

The door closes behind him. The link stays.


End file.
